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August 6, 2003 - "Waiting for the Dawn"
Welcome to 2TheHeart!
If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep on walking. ~Buddhist Proverb
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WAITING FOR THE DAWN
by Barbara Elliott Carpenter
He was all boy from the day he was born. Like his mother, Tommy had black hair and black eyes that sparkled with mischief and mayhem. Tommy's two older sisters adored him and treated him like the royal person he was: a long-awaited only son. On the way home with a new baby boy that warm September day, Thomas and Colleen Scharnhorst stopped by our house.
"I had to show you my boy, Barb," Big Tom told me. His eyes shone with pride, and a smile nearly split his face in half. Colleen pulled the soft blanket away from the little face and turned him so that I could see what a beautiful baby they had made. The two little girls in the back seat, Angie and Cheryl, peered over their parents' shoulders and gazed with delight at the tiny little boy in their mother's arms. There was not a hint of jealousy.
Tommy was a beautiful baby! At birth, he had a head full of black hair; and even then, his eyes were dark and looked at the world with wonder and daring. Life for the Scharnhorst's would never again be the same.
For Tommy, growing up was a daily adventure. As a toddler, he climbed upon everything that was climbable and some things that were not: ATVs, bicycles, trucks, stairs, chairs, lawn mowers, ladders--in short, anything he could reach with one foot. He loved the whole outdoors and all things connected to it: hunting, boating, target shooting, camping, and most of all, motorcycles.
Speed was Tommy's companion. He loved the thrill of danger, the wind in his face, and the speed that sent his heart racing. There was something inside him that pushed him to the limits and beyond.
"Son, you're going to get yourself killed!" People were constantly warning him, usually with a shake of the head and a tolerant smile.
"Oh, but it's so much fun!" Tommy always replied; and those black eyes glowed with the challenge of speed, while his infectious smile flashed white teeth in his young, handsome face. We all smiled at his daring.
"It will be a miracle if he lives!" we said.
The April that Tommy was nineteen, I flew to California to visit my sister; and together we drove to Kingman, AZ, to visit our mother. My sister and I had a great time driving across the desert, laughing and snacking and talking about our shared memories. Little did I know that I was going to need that happy day as a balance, during the days that followed.
The second night into the visit with my mother, my husband called. It was nearing ten o'clock, which made it close to midnight back home, from where he was calling.
"Honey, there's been a terrible accident here tonight." he said. "I was getting ready for bed, when someone came up the driveway really fast and banged on the front door. When I opened the door, a man told me that there had been a motorcycle wreck about a mile from our house; but he was on his way to work, and he didn't have time to stop and help. So I jumped into my truck and hurried down there. There were four cycles, two of them wrecked; and two boys were in the ditch beside the highway. One of them was sitting up, but the other didn't move. Some people had stopped to help, and they were giving the downed boy CPR. I called 911 and kept my truck lights on the boy. I knelt beside him and tried to help all I could."
My husband paused for a long moment, and my first reaction was relief that the victims could not possibly be people I knew. And then my husband continued.
"Honey, I'm sure that the boy is gone." My heart ached for that poor boy's family. "Barb, Honey, that boy is Tommy Scharnhorst." I nearly dropped the phone.
The night was long. There were calls to my daughter and to my son, whose wife is a first cousin of Tommy's. I was nearly two thousand miles away from my family; and if I could have, I would have crawled through the telephone lines to reach them.
The next morning, my husband called again to tell me that arrangements were being made for the funeral, and that Big Tom and Colleen wanted our daughter and me to sing at the service. However, it was scheduled for the day before I was to arrive back home. My sister took the phone from me, said that she would arrange it, and immediately proceeded to contact the airline and explain our dilemma. Within minutes, she had me booked on the red-eye the next morning at one-thirty. All we had to do was drive six hours across the desert, get a night's sleep and get me to the airport by twelve-thirty the following morning.
It was accomplished. I got through the hours with little sleep, and it seemed like I was looking at the world around me through a blurry haze. I watched the lights of cities come and go below me, as we streaked across the black sky. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of Tommy's life, as a baby, a toddler, a boy, and then a handsome young man with the world ahead of him. It was somehow comforting to know that my husband had been with Tommy, and that one of the last hands to touch the boy belonged to someone who had known and cared about him. I cried a lot.
Suddenly I was aware of a glow, a lightening of the skies ahead. I watched the faint rose color become brighter, until it was a spectacular sunrise. I looked behind the plane, and the sky was still black. Mesmerized, my head became a swivel, turning from darkness to dawn and back. How amazing! I had emerged from blackness to glorious light!
My husband met me and drove us the two-hour drive from the airport, directly to the church. My daughter and I had a short time to practice the two songs Tommy's parents chose: Peace in the Midst of My Storm and Ten Thousand Years. Before we sang, I shared with the mourners my experience with the sunrise that very morning. I had come from the darkness into the light, and I wondered aloud if that were not the exact thing that young Tommy had done. He had left a world filled with darkness and pain and heartaches and growing old, going suddenly into the presence of God, where there is no night, no pain, no regret.
The sorrow was not Tommy's. The sorrow and tremendous loss belonged to his parents, his sisters, his extended family and a host of friends of all ages. Tommy had experienced his celestial sunrise. It's the rest of us who are waiting.
We're still waiting for the dawn.
Barbara Elliott Carpenter copyright 2003
Barbara Elliott Carpenter is a contributor to various online publications. This is her first story for 2TheHeart. Her poetry and stories have been published in magazines and periodicals, and some are being used as part of a literature class in a California high school. Her first novel, STARLIGHT, STARBRIGHT..., was released in April and is available online and in major bookstores across the country. A sequel, I WISH I MAY, I WISH I MIGHT... will be released next year. http://www.bec.newsmoose.com/
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The Letter Box:
What a touching Story it has just melted my Heart.indeed God in his infinite wisdom, sees to our needs in ways we often don?t understand. Thanks Bobby and Happy Sisters Day
Charlie- Zambia -Central Africa
2TheHeart,
What a wonderful story "Nellie's Hand" was. It touched my heart to the core. It made me cry and brought me a true sense of what love is all about.. reaching for that hand of Nellie's now is truly completing that "circle of life"... thanks for sharing the love. All the best
Francine Pucillo
Bobby,
Your story of Nellie's Hand brought tears to my eyes! What a beautiful story of sisterly love. Thank you, Barbara
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